


But He Couldn't Cry Out

by mmmdraco



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmdraco/pseuds/mmmdraco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But He Couldn't Cry Out

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are mine only in spirit and voice. Their "likenesses", names, categorizing features, favourite activities (other than the randiness I like to make them engage in), studies, teachers, friends, acquaintances, etc., etc., belong to J.K. Rowling and not me.
> 
> This was written because I was sick of seeing Draco/Harry rapefics where they become best of buddies and lovers afterward. So, this is my take on it.

"Damn you, Malfoy!" Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and had the lightning bolt-shaped scar to prove it, struggled against his arrogant blond rival's grip. Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater who seemed to have no qualms about becoming one himself, had pinned him just after their Quidditch match had ended.

Draco, his aristocratic features curled in distaste, gradually inched his fingers closer to Harry's throat. "You bastard... you bloody bastard! You couldn't let me win the one time my father comes to see me play, could you? You bloody arse! You couldn't let me win and I hate you for it! Why do you have to be so good? Why? Why couldn't you be the Boy Who Died?"

Harry tried to bring his hands up to push Draco off of him, but one of his arms was currently being held to his side by Draco's knee, and the other one was uselessly caught in his robes. He was breathing heavily, beginning to panic as Draco was still holding him down and his fingers were now closing around his throat. "Drac-" His words were cut off as Draco, one vein in his forehead pulsing an angry purple beneath his pale skin, finally clenched strong hands around Harry's throat and began to squeeze.

His eyes were watering, his face becoming numb as the blood flow to his head was being slowly cut off, his air supply rapidly depleting as Draco forced his throat closed off to everything.

A moment later, he felt fingernails scraping deep welts all along the sides of his throat, and felt pulls at his robes, and felt more air come into his lungs. Draco had been pulled off of him, kicking and screaming and clawing. He was still calling out curses and insults at Harry, telling him how he should never have amounted to anything since his mother was a Mudblood and since his father didn't have any taste, well, nine months later, give or take, little Harry was born, probably out of wedlock, perhaps not even James Potter's real son, but a bastard child.

Draco was pulled out of the stadium and Harry could see from his position on the Quidditch pitch that Lucius Malfoy was clumsily storming through the stadium threatening to kill everyone who prevented him from going forth to see his son.

Harry took in several deep breaths before he sat up and realized that no one was near him. "What? Why..."

Madam Pomfrey appeared next to him with a small vial and an eyedropper. "Dear boy, open your mouth." Doing as he was told, Madam Pomfrey filled the eyedropper and eased the solution from it onto his tongue. "There. Swallow that and your throat should feel better in just a moment. I've no doubt that did a bang-up job on your windpipe. My..." She felt along Harry's shoulders. "I was going to just treat you here for those wounds, but you're terribly tense at the moment. Are you up to walking? No sense trying it." She conjured up a stretched and magicked Harry onto it, leading it up from the Quidditch pitch to her office and asking him all along the way whether he'd been under a particular amount of stress lately.

When Harry was finally on a bed in the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey came over with a cotton ball and her jar of bright purple potion. When the potion was put on his wounds, he could feel them heal immediately, though he knew from past experience with the potion that he was to stay still for a minute or two just to be sure. As he waited, he watched Madam Pomfrey look through the jars and vials and bottles that filled the cabinets of the infirmary. "Madam Pomfrey, what are you looking for?"

She waved her hand at Harry while continuing to look. "Don't talk. Be still." She picked up a giant jar of hair removal cream (since so many students liked to use the Pilosus curse on each other) and pulled out a smaller bottle. Replacing the hair removal cream, she brought the small bottle over to Harry. "Here we are." She shook two small pills from the bottle. "It's a Muggle medicine, but we haven't yet been able to come up with something better. They relax your muscles, hence why they're called muscle relaxers. Take them before you leave and be sure to come back to me if you're having any problems like scarring on your neck. You shouldn't, of course, but just in case. Well, carry on, then. I'd make you stay and wait but it's nearly your bedtime as it is. You be sure to get plenty of rest." She conjured up a glass of water on the bedside table and stared impatiently at Harry until he took the two small pills and chased them with a good sip of water. "There. Along to bed with you now."

Harry eased himself off the bed. He felt a bit light-headed for a moment, but nodded to Madam Pomfrey and went on his way toward the Gryffindor dormitories. The walk had always been a rather long one as the four houses were situated at the four corners of the school while everything else but the classrooms was more centrally located.

Stumbling down a staircase, Harry found himself in precisely the wrong corridor. He whispered into the air, "How did I get here?" and could have sworn he heard Peeves the Poltergeist laughing quietly at him. He turned, and stumbled again. The medicine that Madam Pomfrey had given him was kicking in and turning his muscles almost useless. He heard the laughing again. "Perhaps I should just..." He fell backward against a wall and let gravity drag him to the floor. "Whoops."

The air seemed to cool a few degrees and Harry pulled himself into a neat ball beneath his robes. Eventually, he'd have to get up and somehow make it to his bed. "Eventually..." His voice trailed off as he heard footsteps. "Filch?" There was no answer. "Snape?" A casual laugh, similar to that of Peeves, but distinctly not. "Who are you?"

He heard a swish and heard the whispered word "Lumos" and saw none other than Draco Malfoy with his wand casually aimed toward his own face. Draco laughed again. "You poor wretched thing. Can't even make it to your own corridor!"

Harry shook his head listlessly and spoke, though the words had trouble forming. "Draco... just, just leave me. Alone. Leave me."

"Nox." The word, which Draco spoke to his wand, extinguished what pale light had enabled him to see the other boy. Harry could always take out his own wand, but he truly didn't think he could manage even the simplest spell at the moment.

Thinking perhaps Draco had actually left, Harry went to move, but suddenly felt strong hands clamped on his hips. He even recognized the grip. Draco sighed softly against his neck from behind. "I'm going to tell you something, Harry. This is something I've never told anyone before. But, I think it's right for you to know."

Harry felt himself pulled up onto Draco's lap. "Harry... as a child, my father liked to use me. My mother was always too busy looking beautiful to want to have sex. So, I got to give my father three blowjobs a day just to keep him happy. In exchange, he let me live and let my mother shower me with gifts. Sounds like a good idea, huh? Well, blowjobs were all fine and dandy... you do know what a blowjob is, Harry, don't you? When you take a guy's cock in your mouth and you lick it and suck it until he gets off and you swallow like you love it, and pretend it was the best thing you ever had, and you let someone use you as a mere plaything just because. Well, apparantly, that wasn't enough. My first holiday away from Hogwarts and my father decided that wasn't good enough because I wasn't good enough. *I* wasn't the only first year they let on the Quidditch team, I wasn't famous already, I didn't have perfect grades. Do you understand? I wasn't good enough at any of that, so my father decided I had to be a better whore. Do you understand, Potter? My father *fucked* me. On the dining room table, on the floor in front of the fireplace, over the banister, in my bed... but never his. Why? Because the only thing I'm good at is being a cheap whore! And, I wanted you to know what that felt like."

Harry tried to squirm out of Draco's grasp, but the other boy held him too tightly, numbing his hips where his fingers dug through the robes into his flesh. "Draco, no."

Pulling Harry closer, Draco placed harsh kisses along his throat. "Just pretend I'm someone you want to fuck you. That'll make it easier. It always did for me."

"But I don't want..."

Harry winced as Draco bit down on his neck. "It doesn't really matter if you want it or not. You're going to get it anyway."

Closing his eyes, Harry tried to ignore that Draco was grinding against his, his hips rocking slightly against Harry's behind. He winced as Draco's grip on him tightened slightly, then sighed in relief when that grip released. He made a move to crawl away, but Draco pulled up his robes and held him around the waist with his left arm as his right hand made quick work of Harry's pants and underwear, pulling them down around his ankles and letting them stay there instead of at least stripping him completely.

He leaned back against Draco, trying to arch his back enough to get some leverage to get away. He had no strength, but he still struggled. That was all he had left to do. He couldn't just take it. He couldn't... yet, when he felt one of Draco's hand tracing along the cleft of his behind, separating him just slightly, he gave way, leaning forward and falling to his knees. "That's a good boy, Potter."

Harry gulped at air he couldn't seem to breathe. He felt Draco behind him, felt his own robes being pushed up to rest against his shoulders, a cool breeze rushing against his back. Then, he felt Draco's behind him and the feel of Draco's robes passing against his skin, and then he felt Draco's flesh, hard and pulsing, pressing full-length against him.

"I'm going to fuck you now, Potter. Nothing to make it easier, no loving words to tell you I want you, no lubrication... This is just so I can say I fucked you. It's revenge more than anything. You're the reason I got fucked. Now, I get to be the reason you get fucked. I hope you like it. If you don't, you'll learn to. Everyone does." Harry fell against his own arms as Draco dragged his nails across Harry's back. He felt his skin tear and give way, stinging as blood welled up to the surface and spilled like a crimson river during a flood.

His head was pressed against his arms, his eyes closed as tightly shut as he could coerce them to go, and his mind was trying to drown out the way Draco was moving against him and positioning himself. He wanted to scream as Draco pushed himself in with a heady groan, but he could only manage a whimper that didn't even echo in the corridor. He didn't feel as though anything had torn, but he was still being invaded. Draco was in him and his hands clutched at Harry's hips and wrenched them into a position that gave him the most plesure. "You're so fucking tight, Potter. Haven't you been fucked before? I'd figure a pretty pansy-ass like you got all the offers and it wouldn't surprise me if you took them all up on it. You like being used, don't you?" He was beginning to move Harry's hips against his own, using his overpowering grip on the weaker boy to give him pleasure instead of his own thrusting.

Draco groaned deeply as he pulled Harry against him again and again, pushing himself in as deep as he could go and continually spearing him with his sadistic arousal. Harry trembled as Draco's fingernails dug into his hips and his knees left the floor for a deep thrust. One hand moved to push his torso against the cold stone floor and wrench his hips up even further. Harry cried out softly, but even he couldn't hear it over the rhythmic pattern of flesh beating flesh.

Harry gasped as Draco leaned back against his own calves and arched his own back, Harry resting deeply on top of him. Draco cried out as he thrust up against Harry, emptying himself of his seed, his rage, and his secrets.

Breathing deeply, Draco began to relax his grip on Harry, letting him slide forward and back onto the cold floor. He felt Draco's hands on him again, pushing against his abused entrance to make sure his seed was kept inside, wiping against the blood that was just drying. He felt his pants pulled back into place, though they weren't buttoned, and his robe was pulled back down. "You just have to be so damn good, don't you, Potter?"

Draco was behind him again, lifting him up. "You're even a better whore than me. Why do you have to be so good? Why the fuck do you have to be so good at everything you do? Why can't I beat you?" He sounded like he was holding back screams and terrified cries, tears and mixed metaphors.

Harry took a few breaths of his own, feeling the air beginning to fill him like it hadn't wanted to do earlier. He felt Draco lifting him over his shoulder and carrying him like a broken broomstick. He felt empty, and used, and it all felt like a dream, but the pain that shot through him wasn't a dream, and the way his robe stuck to his back in a stinging way was no dream, and the way that Draco was sobbing wasn't a dream.

After a good amount of time, he felt himself tossed against more cold stone. He shivered and looked up, seeing the Fat Lady snoring in his portrait. He looked up and tried to find Draco, but saw no one. The only thing he could hear beyond his own ragged breathing were two whispered words that came from the deep darkness down the hall. "So sorry..."

But the words didn't matter. Nothing did. All of Hogwarts that mattered was asleep, and Harry felt no qualms in reminding himself that he didn't matter. He was just a thing. A Seeker, a Student, a Friend, a Warrior, a Whore... just a little thing that could be used, just as he always had.


End file.
